The Oliver Wood Chronicles
by fracindy
Summary: ...Or - What Happens To Quidditch-Obsessed Fanatics When They Tyrannize Their Team
1. Okay, so I'm

Prologue  
  
  
  
The pale light of dawn had barely reached Hogwarts castle that already someone was up and about in Gryffindor tower. That someone seemed, if not excited, at least in a state of frantic nervousness, and after walking out of his dormitory, circled around the Common Room two or three times before he remembered exactly what he had set off to do. He ran back up the way he had come, up the stairs to the boys' dormitory and opened the fourth years' door cautiously.  
  
He peered inside and seemed to hesitate for a moment, but finally stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He was no sooner inside that he found himself flat on the ground, having tripped on what was undoubtedly an invisible rope tied in between the two beds nearest to the door, and attacked by half a dozen pairs of bewitched pyjamas that jumped on him all at once and started wrestling him towards the door.  
  
After a few minutes of a surprisingly violent struggle coming from a few pairs of old pyjamas, struggle which didn't seem to have bothered the sleeping inhabitants of the room in the least, their victim managed to blast his assailants across the room with his wand long enough to get up and scamper towards the door. Panting, he reached the doorknob and was about to turn it when a sign with brightly coloured letters hanging on the door caught his attention:  
  
"Not until seven o'clock, Oliver - a Quidditch player needs proper rest."  
  
Wood let out a frustrated cry and slammed the door behind him - not one second too early: the pyjamas were up again and pounding furiously on the door from the inside. Wood stayed in front of the door a few minutes, as much to keep the pyjamas from further pursuing him as to catch his breath. When everything was calm once again inside the room, Wood let go of the doorknob and turned around to throw one last disgusted look at his two beaters' room, when another sign appeared on the door that made his cheeks go red with fury and embarrassment:  
  
"We warned you! (and not for the first time)" 


	2. not very good

Letter from Oliver Wood to his friend Academeus Prune  
  
  
  
Dear Academeus,  
  
I hope you're well and your team is training hard. I'm sorry I couldn't make it to your last game, I heard that your chasers were unbeatable and you yourself were in particularly good shape - which I don't doubt, despite that rather unfortunate accident I caused last time we played, depriving you from the use of your arms for two whole weeks, but (you have to admit) securing a brilliant victory for me and my team.  
  
I wish I could say my team is going as well as yours - but I'm afraid this year is starting out as bad as last one. You know how House Teams are. Not that we don't have exceptionally good players, don't get me wrong - actually, if we ever had the opportunity of playing against you, I'm sure we'd beat you flat out (hmm, I'll have to talk to my team about that: I'm sure they'd be keen on taking the challenge!) - but there seems to be an unexplainable lack of enthusiasm for early morning training, which is of course the most effective in my mind.  
  
As you know, school started three days ago, and the first practice of the season was scheduled for this morning at six o'clock. The whole team knew about it, I'd told them myself last night; and though they were quite reluctant at first, we finally decided that practice would take place at six this morning. Or did they maybe mean six this afternoon? Hmm, I have a doubt now, seeing as to how they received me this morning. Well, anyway, the point is, they were most uncooperative. I was up first, of course, I mean, I'd hardly slept during the night, I was so eager to get started again - and around five o'clock I went to wake them up, just in case they'd forgotten; didn't want to put any pressure on them, but it really was getting late, you know. Well, you can never guess what a fuss they made! I was attacked and chased out of their dormitory by my beaters' pyjamas; and to tell you the truth, I won't risk going in there early in the morning ever again, even if a victory was at stake. Then, when I went to wake up my seeker (young Harry Potter, of course - I foresee a brilliant future in Quidditch for that one!) I found the door locked from the inside. Same for my chasers, who all sleep in the same dormitory. Well, then again, maybe it's normal it was locked: it is a girl's dormitory.  
  
So, I went back down to the Common Room and waited for them; what else could I do? I know that's very uncaptain-like behaviour, but I really didn't feel like upsetting my players, and most particularly my beaters, for our very first practice.  
  
Finally, an hour and a half later, we were all down in the changing-room, and I of course opened the season with a short and to-the-point speech about new tactics and such. Can you believe they had the nerve to fall asleep? And when I asked them if they'd completed the training program I'd given them for the summer, they just gaped at me like I'd asked them to go fight a Hungarian Horntail. Seemed to think six hours a day and a couple hundred new moves was overdoing it. Angelina even told me they thought I was kidding when I'd given it to them at the end of last year. So I gave them a scolding - and got told off for doing so! I just couldn't believe my ears. Who's captain? Who knows best? I mean, honestly, how do they expect us to win the Quidditch House Cup if they never train at all and don't listen to my every word?  
  
I'd really appreciate it if you could give me a few tips as to how I can handle this lot - I don't intend on letting the Cup slip through my fingers this year.  
  
Hoping to receive an owl from you soon,  
  
Your friend Oliver 


	3. at finding titles

It was dinner time up at the castle, and everyone was inside eating and trying to keep warm: although it was still early September, the weather was already getting quite chilly, and students and teachers alike weren't keen on staying outside in the cold evening air. Not even Hagrid could be seen out on the grounds. One person alone stood on the Quidditch field, and stood quite still; as a matter of fact, if it weren't for the white fog that came out of his nose in short, sharp breaths, you might have thought he was made of stone.  
  
Oliver Wood stood right in the middle of the field, his hands on his hips, his eyes focused on some point across the ground, looking petrified and wearing a glowering expression that would have alarmed even the Weasley twins. His broomstick lay still at his feet, as did the wooden crate from which the Bludgers were trying to free themselves. Wood didn't so much as bat an eye lid when the two ferocious balls nearly succeeded in their attempt, knocking the crate over to the side. He just stood there, motionless, his glare getting more fierce every second. He was still wearing his Quidditch robes, and they were in a sad state indeed: the left sleeve was torn, and the whole of the lower part, from the hem to the knees, had been burned.  
  
An owl swooped down right towards Oliver and brushed the top of his head. At this, Wood seemed to wake up suddenly from his torpor and burst out, rather like a Howler that's been left unopened for too long. He beat his arms in the air frantically, trying to get at the perplexed owl, and yelling himself hoarse for a good five minutes, until he realised the owl was well out of reach and had been so for quite a while. He then let out an enraged cry and sank back into his indolent posture, sitting cross-legged on the wet ground, his head in his hands. A most uncaptainish position, he thought bitterly, but at the moment, it is true, he was more than distressed. Practices were not going well. He didn't understand: he just couldn't believe his team's lack of enthusiasm and cooperation.  
  
He recalled their first practice two weeks ago: all he'd done was announce that they would be under intensive training this year, and Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet had all started shrieking in protest, Harry Potter had simply rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation, and the Weasley twins had threatened to go on strike. Of course, at first, Oliver had thought it was only the back-to-school pressure that had led to such a reaction. He gave a hollow laugh: he was proved wrong only one week later, when Fred and George really did come down to the field brandishing banners that flashed in bright orange and red:  
  
Gryffindor Quidditch Team Protesting Against Overly Intensive and Nastily Exhausting Practices - we demand at least five hours of actual rest a day AND the time to both attend classes and eat -  
  
So, they thought three hours of training six days a week was too much, did they? They thought classes were more important than Quidditch, did they? Oliver grinned sardonically: ooh, he'd tried to get the silly idea out of their mind, that Quidditch wasn't their number one priority. He'd killed himself explaining why it was so important to train so hard (did they realise the English National Team trained eight hours a day, seven days a week?) and why it was particularly important for him - er, for them - to finally win the House Cup. He had even launched himself into telling an anecdote his friend Academeus had owled him, about a boy who had exceptional talent, and. but, of course, he didn't have time to finish, as they were all gone before he'd even gotten to the important part of the story.  
  
And today. today! Wood was still in shock. He looked down in disbelief and disgust at what was left of his robes, and the ferocious light that seemed to have gone out in his eyes came full back. To tell the truth, he wasn't sure how it had all happened - he was hardly even aware that his beaters were plotting a way to take what they called revenge for Oliver's lack of cooperation and understanding regarding their strike (the nerve they had! As if Oliver was the uncooperative one!) until the dungbombs had hit him full in the face and legs. He shuddered: it was a most unpleasant experience, hitting the muddy ground after a twenty-feet high fall during which your robes were on fire and you were gasping for air, real air, not dungbomb-filled putrid gas. Of course (and this was Oliver's only consolation) Fred and George weren't looking remotely amused anymore when they had rushed over to set out the fire and see if he was still alive, and neither was the rest of the team: the twins were stammering weak apologies, Katie was hitting them both, and Alicia was shrieking hysterically about attempted murder, detention and Professor McGonagall. But then, when he finally had enough feeling back in his legs to stand up and start admonishing the whole team and threatening them with extra practice hours, they just left him there and went back up to the castle, without even bothering to escort their captain to the Hospital Wing! Search as he might, Oliver couldn't find any good reason to that. Because, honestly - they really had deserved that scolding. All of them had. They didn't respect his position as captain half as much as they should - and he was going to change that, dungbombs or not.  
  
He'd have to write to Academeus again - things really were not going well. Academeus, he thought, had more experience in Quidditch team training than he did: Academeus had been captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch Team five years running, and he was now training the Puddlemere Reserve Team. He had always been renowned for his outstanding skills, if not in Quidditch, at least in training: he had secured victory for his team at the National League for three years in a row, as his players were all in exceptionally good shape (though some spoilsports will say they looked surprisingly submissive and slightly paranoid), while he himself only stopped one goal from being scored and was unable to dodge several Bludgers. The only incomprehensible thing about Academeus Prune, was that none of his players lasted more than one season under his thumb; and while former players of the Reserve Team asserted they had suffered multiple injuries and sometimes even temporary periods of insanity because of lack of rest, Oliver still admired Academeus as the most effective trainer of his acquaintance.  
  
By the time Oliver had stopped musing about his duties and grievances as captain, it was almost night time. He slowly gathered his things, wrestled the stubborn Bludgers well back into their place, closed the crate on his fingers, swore loudly for a few minutes, and made his way back up to the castle.  
  
While he was walking, a thousand images passed through his mind: him catching the Quaffle before it entered the hoop; Harry catching the Snitch; him holding the House Cup; the twins beating a Bludger in Snape's direction; him playing for England; him shaking hands with the Minister of Magic; him being congratulated by Viktor Krum; him being cheered along by his devoted fans and team mates.  
  
He suddenly stopped walking and dropped all he was carrying on the ground, a dazed look on his face. Then, without warning, a wide grin spread across his newly determined face. He picked up his things, and sped ever so fast towards the castle doors. He would make them see how important it was. They just had to win the Cup! And he was going to do all that was in his power, including making his team die in harness, to get it. This was real captain behaviour, he thought; this would earn him respect.  
  
He entered the great hall and walked straight towards the team, with as much captain-like dignity as he could muster while sporting half torn and burned robes and carrying a foul odour about him. The maniac glint was back in his eye. The twins groaned at the sight of him.  
  
"Doesn't anything ever subdue your obsession, Oliver?" George asked. "Not even a twenty-feet fall from a broomstick?"  
  
Wood ignored him. Instead, he turned to the rest of the team and eyed them happily, as though he were about to give them a real treat.  
  
"I've decided that after today's." Here, Oliver paused, obviously trying to keep his composure. ".today's incident, we should adopt a new training method. Now I'm not saying it will be less rigorous, don't worry: but we will work differently. I'm thinking week-end long practices, and also maybe one complete night during the week, so that you can have the evenings to yourselves - since that's what you seem to want so bad," he finished in a slightly miffed tone, as though he couldn't possibly understand why anyone would refuse to play Quidditch every day of the week if they had the possibility of doing so.  
  
He surveyed the unenthusiastic and somewhat alarmed faces of his players, appearing to take no notice of the less-than-warm manner in which they had welcomed this new tactic. Instead, he grinned excitedly, clapped his hands and rubbed them together, and announced that he would be waiting for them up in the Common Room for a quick meeting before walking away.  
  
"I'd surmised as much," sighed Fred once he was out of earshot.  
  
"You know what this means." said George in a malicious tone.  
  
"Too well," grimaced Angelina. "We're not going to be able to sleep until Christmas holidays."  
  
"It means we're going to have to come up with a new plan," continued George in a conspiring tone.  
  
All three girls groaned, but Harry added in a mutinous voice: "I don't know about you, but I don't intend on spending my week-ends from early morning until late night out on the Quidditch pitch. I say we have a meeting of our own after Oliver's in bed."  
  
All six players grinned devilishly. 


	4. although I guess

A/N: okay, so after months of posting on here, I've just realised I need to post a disclaimer, so here goes:  
  
NONE of the characters depicted in my story belong to me: they're aaaall J.K. Rowling's, lucky her! Oh, except for Academeus Prune, but he's not all that important, I guess.  
  
And I got reviewers! What a treat!:-D  
  
Jenni - that's right, we never did settle that Bill matter, did we? Actually, I think by now I've forgotten what I told him, hehe. thanks for reviewing me!  
  
Nancy - you do seem to have a certain affinity with pyjamas, don't you? ;) thanks for reeaaadiiing!!  
  
Caketwins - aka Carrie and Marion - LOL! I'd forgotten just how fond of Oliver you were. ;) but really - Quidditch-freak Oliver is just as cute! And so sweet!  
  
FaintAisling - lol! Another pyjama lover! Thanks for reviewing!!  
  
The Freak of Redwall - well, the rest of it is posted! Glad you liked the beginning!  
  
Mephistopheles - aww, that was nice to hear! I do try hard to describe Oliver the way I see him in the books; I thought he was too. 'cool' in the movie. not at all his delightfully funny Quidditch-obsessed self. Thanks for reviewing!  
  
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Later that same night on which Oliver had exposed to his team his brilliant new ideas for training, after all the lights were out and everyone had since long gone to bed, a small group of people huddled in blankets by the dying fire was holding counsel. Two of those people were talking animatedly, and the girl next to them agreeing wholeheartedly. Another girl was arguing heatedly with them and constantly seeking for support from her neighbour, who was quite unable to provide her with any as she had been snoring for the past half hour. The last person, which appeared to be none other than Harry Potter, seemed to be enjoying himself thoroughly: an amused smile danced on his lips, and his eyes had a bit of that mischievous sparkle in them the Weasley twins always had when they had just found a new victim to test their pranks on.  
  
The whole Gryffindor Quidditch team, except for their captain, who was probably sound asleep by now, had been arguing ever since the Common Room had been deserted by the other Gryffindors. A couple of Fred and George's dungbombs had helped in this process, of course, but as it was well past midnight, they were quite certain no one would be spying on them anyway, dungbombs or not.  
  
"Listen, we can't spend all year long waging war against our captain," was saying Alicia vehemently. "We'll never manage to play a decent game if we carry on like this!"  
  
"We'll never manage to play decently if we don't get proper sleep, either," interjected George. "I mean, come on: until now, we've spent half of our time at practice dozing off, trying to make up for the sleep we didn't get the day before because of practice!"  
  
"Exactly!" said Angelina fervently. "We haven't had a full night's sleep ever since school started."  
  
"Yes, well, school only started two weeks ago," Alicia reminded them.  
  
"Maybe, but two-week long sleep-deprivation isn't a good thing, especially for top-notch Quidditch players such as us," said Fred.  
  
Harry and Angelina snorted.  
  
"Well, we are on the House team." said Fred sheepishly.  
  
"Anyway," continued George, "if you don't believe we need more rest, go on and take a look at Katie: she's been sound asleep ever since we started the meeting!"  
  
"Meeting?" shrieked Alicia. "What meeting? This is no meeting, we don't need a meeting! All we need to do is talk with Oliver and come up with a solution!"  
  
This statement was followed by much sniggering and sceptic sneers.  
  
"Talk?" said Fred. "Like last Saturday, when we begged Oliver for a five- minute break in between two three-hours practice sessions and he refused?"  
  
"Yes, well, maybe if you had actually asked him and not threatened to put his broomstick on fire."  
  
"We didn't threaten him!" interrupted George indignantly.  
  
"Yeah, we were doing him a favour! He'd been up in the air since early that morning! He had to come down eventually and actually eat and rest a bit - might've fallen off if he'd stayed up there any longer. And if making his broom crash was the only way to bring him down."  
  
". we wouldn't have hesitated. You know how devoted we are to Oliver," finished George with a mock bow.  
  
The murderous expression on Alicia's face would have been enough to silence the twins, had they paid any attention to her. But they continued their speech:  
  
"No, this year he's really going too far."  
  
"He's just trying to make us win the Cup!" hissed Alicia, although she did look a lot less confident ever since she had noticed Katie's obvious lack of support. "I agree we should be allowed some slack from time to time, but."  
  
"Listen, all of you," said Harry, motioning for Alicia to stop talking and glaring at Fred who had already opened his mouth to retort. "I think both sides have a point: now, I know Oliver shouldn't be overworking us like this, but all he's really trying to do is help us win. And don't any of you tell me you don't want to finally beat Slytherin."  
  
Angelina and Alicia groaned threateningly and both twins let out angry words their mother certainly wouldn't have approved of.  
  
"I thought so," continued Harry. "So, why don't we work out a kind of compromise?"  
  
"Compromise? With Oliver?" scoffed Fred.  
  
"No, no, not with Oliver: between us!"  
  
Everyone stared at Harry.  
  
"What I mean," continued Harry, "is that we shouldn't actually. do anything to Oliver as long as he respects our need to be off the Quidditch field from time to time."  
  
"But how can he know about what we need if we don't tell him first?" interrupted Angelina.  
  
"He won't listen to us if we simply tell him," said Harry patiently. Boy these girls were complicated! "But after tonight's meeting with him, I think there's a very slight chance we may already have won our evenings. Now as to week-ends - well, as long as he's not too over-zealous, I think we should try and obey him as best we can. But," he continued, putting a hand up to keep an indignant George from interjecting, "if ever he starts getting carried away, I think we should - put him back in line. With a little help from our Beaters, that is."  
  
Harry grinned mischievously, as did Fred and George, who both looked as though Christmas had come early for them. However, Alicia, it appeared, was not ready to accept this plan without a last fight, and even Angelina looked slightly sceptical.  
  
"But how will it help?" she asked, frowning. "We've hexed him before, and it hasn't stopped him from being his usual Quidditch-obsessed self."  
  
Fred and George looked absolutely delighted about their role, and weren't about to let anyone take the chance of thoroughly enjoying themselves away from them.  
  
"Look," said Fred. "We're not going to seriously injure him or something."  
  
"Yeah, it'll just be - a little reminder, that every time he shows a sign of wanting to go too far, we'll keep him from stepping out of line."  
  
Alicia rolled her eyes. "You guys act like he's torturing us! Honestly!"  
  
"And you," said George knowingly, "are giving yourself one heck of a time trying to defend darling Oliver. Might I enquire why that may be?"  
  
A pillow fight of rather violent nature followed this exchange between Alicia and George; so violent, in fact, that we will not report it here in our chronicles. Meanwhile, the rest of the team, which was now only composed of Harry, Fred and Angelina (we see here how effective the Gryffindor team is when working as a whole) agreed that they would explain to Oliver first thing in the morning all about their new conditions: that they agreed to follow his new training program, but guaranteed obedience to his orders and his own safety only under the sole condition that he didn't get too extra-practice-happy.  
  
The meeting ended as George, receiving full in the face a carefully aimed pillow, fell backwards and landed on Katie, who, needless to say, woke up at once and started hexing everything within wand reach. It was decided thereupon that the best thing yet to do was flee to the dormitories before Filch or McGonagall turned up.  
  
But as each player regained their bed (in a more or less pitiful state: Katie's hexes had been most effective), no one, not even Alicia, could help a conniving grin from spreading on their face: whether it was the twins or Oliver who would most endure in the end from this due battle, this year promised to be most interesting.  
  
A while later, a dark figure crept out of the fourth year boys' dormitory and headed up the stairs to the remaining dormitories of Gryffindor tower. Ten steps, a right turn, one door, two doors, and into the sixth year's dormitory. Fred Weasley entered the room noiselessly and deposited a small parcel by his captain's pillow, working hard to suppress his laughter as Wood muttered in his sleep something about Quidditch fouls, lack of cooperation, and Alicia (so there was something going on with her!). He exited the room, after having of course deposited a few toffees on random students' bedside table (never did any harm to seize an opportunity when it presented itself), and hurried back to his own dormitory, where his twin was waiting for him at the door, a malevolent grin from ear to ear. "So?" asked George, hardly containing his anticipation. "Mission accomplished," said Fred, with the air of someone who's just assured himself victory in advance over a particularly harsh battle, and a smile to match his brother's.  
  
The Oliver Wood Conspiracy had officially begun. 


	5. I can't really

A/N: none of the here depicted characters are mine, and blah blah blah.  
  
*sigh* I do wish I figured out how to write in italics and how NOT to skip lines every time.  
  
Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Unfortunately, I'm in a hurry (damn papers) and have no time to name everybody. but I appreciate it just the same!  
  
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It was Saturday morning, and every student in Gryffindor tower was gratefully enjoying the few extra hours of sleep they could get on week- ends. Even over-zealous Oliver Wood appeared to be staying in bed - a decision most of his roommates were sure to appreciate, as he was always up before anyone else and made a great deal of noise every morning (not to mention the fact he would usually wake them all up, asking if they'd seen his broomstick; which ended up always being in the same place under his bed). But today, everything was still and silent in the sixth years' dormitory.  
  
A white owl flew in through the window just as six o'clock rang in Hogsmeade and settled itself on Oliver's night table, waiting for him to wake up. Half a second later, the owl was thrown off the table as a red envelope on Oliver's night table exploded, filling the room with smoke and a puff of burnt wings. Oliver jumped three feet high in his bed and bounced off of it, dragging his blankets and pillows in his fall. A deafening voice filled the whole room, the whole tower, the whole castle, ten times as loud the worst Howler Oliver had ever received.  
  
"OLIVER. THIS IS A REPRESENTATIVE OF YOUR QUIDDITCH TEAM SPEAKING. HERE ARE OUR NEW TERMS -"  
  
Everyone in the dormitory had of course woken up when the envelope had exploded, and were now vainly trying to plug their ears with their hands and pillows. Some had disappeared under their bed. All of them were throwing looks of pure venom at the source of the trouble: the bloody Quidditch captain, as always.  
  
"- DEMAND PRACTICE SCHEDULE TO BE REVIEWED UNTIL IT SUITS ALL PLAYERS."  
  
By now, half of Gryffindor Tower was awake, and, having easily located the source of the commotion, had come up to the sixth years' dormitory to find out what was going on. A dozen or so students, whose curiosity had overcome their common sense (which told them to turn right back around and flee the thunderous noise), were standing in the doorway, some of them crouched low to the ground in case there was any danger.  
  
"- WILL NOT PUT UP WITH ANY PRACTICE SESSIONS THAT ARE NOT PROGRAMMED IN SAID SCHEDULE. ANY POTENTIAL CHANGES OF SCHEDULE SHOULD BE COMMUNICATED TO THE TEAM AT LEAST TEN DAYS IN ADVANCE AND MUST BE APPROVED BY -"  
  
My wand, thought Oliver desperately. Must reach my wand. He was still sprawled on the ground by his bed, entangled in his blankets and unable to reach his wand, which had rolled a few feet away from him. He was just about to free his arm and reach out for it when a ball of no-longer-white feathers swooped down on him and started furiously biting and pulling his skin and hair and beating its wings at him, clearly enraged at resembling a new-born vulture instead of its superb snowy-white self.  
  
After a fierce struggle which ended with Oliver using his Beater technique to get rid of his owl, he finally managed to get hold of his wand, and immediately conjured a pair of thick earmuffs he gratefully settled over his ears. He then turned towards the envelope, which was floating right under the ceiling, still hollering away. He took aim carefully and shouted, "Silencio!" and grinned in satisfaction as the thunderous voice died immediately.  
  
However, his victory was short, as a hundred and more miniature Bludgers shot out of the envelope in every direction the moment the spell touched it. And over the whistling sound of the Bludgers and the cries of panic of his roommates, Oliver clearly distinguished a huge outburst of laughter coming from the door: he had time enough to catch a glimpse of the Weasley twins' heads grinning malevolently before a minute Bludger darted right into his eye, followed by half a dozen others.  
  
"Aaaaaaargh!"  
  
He beat his hands in the air, trying to get the balls away from him, and was suddenly slapped in the face by a hand that was definitely not his: his roommates were attacking him! They had grabbed their pillows, wands, broomsticks, books, and anything that was at hand reach and both light enough to throw and heavy enough to knock someone out, and seemed determined to wreck deadly revenge over the one person who was responsible for all their misadventures. Running for dear life, Wood jumped over his bed, jerked his trunk open, pulled a Beater's club out of it, and started frantically swishing it around at Bludgers and students alike.  
  
The whole Quidditch team was now at the door, contemplating the mayhem in their captain's room with both horror and amusement. Harry let his forehead drop into his hands, shaking his head. "This is not what was planned."  
  
Meanwhile, Wood had finally managed to neutralise what was left of the minute Bludgers, and as his skill as a Beater was reputed to outstrip his Keeper talents, his roommates started slowly backing away from the club he was still holding in his hand.  
  
Everything went silent as Wood turned towards the door, his knuckles as white as his face, eyes bulging, looking slightly mad. Fred and George stopped laughing at once. They watched apprehensively as their captain gritted his teeth, opened his mouth, swallowed hard, clutched the club convulsively, and finally extended a shaking finger at his team.  
  
"Extra training!" he bellowed. "Everyone out on the field! NOW!"  
  
Fred opened his mouth at once, probably to say one of the terms they had just mentioned in the Howler was banning extra practice, but was prevented from doing so as all three Chasers and Harry rounded on the twins, looking as menacing as Wood.  
  
"Wh- what?" stuttered George, a would-be confident smile on his lips. "We agreed to tell him first thing in the morning. didn't we?" 


	6. name these parts

A/N: do I really have to do this each time? *recites* None of the here depicted characters...  
  
nancy - aww, thanks! It's good to hear that from your mouth... ;)  
  
aims - why thank you! I do try to make this sound funny... thanks for reading!  
  
riposte - hehe! You can be in love with him aaall you want... although I do believe fanatical Oliver would be tough to live with, wouldn't you? Thanks for reviewing!  
  
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Notes exchanged between Fred and George in Transfiguration Lesson  
  
  
  
Oy - that turned out nasty, that pots and pans business did...  
  
You kidding me? That's the most fun we've had in years! Oliver being chased around by an angry mob of steel saucepans... Why it's almost as satisfying as watching Snape belching toads! (I'll never forget that sweet memory - or the punishment that came afterwards, for that matter...)  
  
You do realise he's going to get back at us, don't you? Extra training, I reckon... Or making us clean the changing-rooms without magic - ugh.  
  
So? We'll just have to get back at him for getting back at us and so on and so forth. Blimey this is going to be a fun year!  
  
Yeah, except the girls somehow don't seem to share our idea of fun... Can you believe how mad Alicia got when the pans finally caught up with Oliver?  
  
I know, close shave - but I ducked in time to avoid the hexes.  
  
YOU ducked in time - what about ME?  
  
Oh, come off it, donkey ears look fine on you!  
  
Shut up or we'll see how an elephant trump suits YOU. Still - that was rather brilliant. Did you see the look on his face when they all came flying down from the castle kitchens onto the pitch? I guess he didn't believe we'd really do it.  
  
You'd think by now he'd know better than to ignore our threats... Anyway, I don't know what everyone was so upset about: it was his fault! Shouldn't have sent those Bludgers flying our way in the first place.  
  
Well, you've got to admit we weren't paying too much attention...  
  
Excuse me? We'd been paying attention for the past hour and a half, and anyone will understand we got tired after a while of being lectured on how correctly trimmed broomsticks were crucial to the outcome of the 1674 game between Spain and some rival team or the other in Mongolia. And besides - one can't simply set Bludgers on a Weasley and not expect to have something heavier set on them afterwards.  
  
When do you reckon he'll be in good enough shape to start practice again?  
  
Not too soon I hope. Anyway Madam Pomfrey said it'll take some time just to bring him round, and even longer to get him restored to his normal intellectual faculties. I just guess cauldrons and saucepans have the ability to batter your brains, huh?  
  
And get House-Elves into a frenzy... Still, I Think I'd rather have been battered by pots and pans than by an angry McGonagall... Do you really think she'll make us do all of the twenty days of detention she gave us?  
  
Shush, she's coming our way - and we really can't afford to get any more detentions, or we'll never have enough free time left to work on our next plan...  
  
True - especially considering we still have about half a dozen detentions we weren't able to finish in time last year. Or maybe they've forgotten about those?  
  
I hope not: we really need to get that box of Wart-Sprouting Caramels back from Filch's office. Reckon we can make Oliver test them as soon as he's up and about?  
  
I'd say - don't push it... Let's wait at least a few days so our poor captain can somewhat recover. Yeah, a few days should do it... 


End file.
